Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Christmas with Gramma

Gramma gave me a crack pipe
last year on Christmas Eve.
Then the policemen came,
and she had to leave.

But now she's gone to jail,
and I guess it's just as well,
'cause she made lousy cookies anyway.

Oh, a marijuana leaf
can't be your mistletoe,
and your lines of cocaine
aren't the same as snow.

But it's true I'll miss you dear
'cause you always brought the beer,
and your brownies took the pain away.

Oh Gramma, you know that I love you.
Oh Gramma, you know that it's true.
And if we raise the bail
we'll get you out of jail
and have you home by Christmas day.


You know. Little people. I've been seeing a lot of them lately on TV. And I can't help but thinking, "Wow." You know, at least they're working. But I still can't help but thinking it would be like selling crack. "Hey, I know it's bad and I'm probably going to hell for it, but I need the work..."

Key Word: Functional

I've decided to become a functional alcoholic. But then, isn't that everybody's goal in life? Be it alcohol, marijuana, cocaine, soap operas, or Jesus. Whatever it is that cushions you from reality. But, unfortunately, reality is still there waiting for us.

"When you're sober, your problems will still be there, and probably worse!" says that one person who pretends to care that you're slowly getting wasted.

And you reply, "But what if they're not (my problems, that is)? And even if they are, at least I got away from them for a while!"

Oh, Nancy! Where are you when we need you most?

Mario, Mario!

Mario Andretti was in town last Tuesday (which, incidently -- or coincidently? -- was my wife's birthday). You remember Mario? Formula One, Indy 500? Vroom! Now, he's in Springfield, Missouri, on a Tuesday afternoon signing autographs at a tire store. Kinda makes you wonder if running into a brick wall at 200 miles an hour would've been such a bad thing.

That Time of Year

Well I hate Christmas,
and New Years, too.
I hate all the music,
and I kinda hate you.

I hate Christmas movies,
and I hate Christmas lights.
I hate Christmas shopping,
and the parking lot fights.

I hate Christmas turkey,
and I hate Christmas trees.
I hate Christmas sweaters
with snowmen and holly leaves.

Well I hate Christmas,
and that is the truth.
But I kinda like eggnog,
as long as it's 90 proof.

I hate Christmas magic,
and I hate all the elves.
I really hate Santa,
and pretty much everyone else.

(OK, background singers...

(I hate Christmas.
Christmas time.
I hate Christmas.
I hate Chrismas rhymes

I hate Christmas.
Christmas time.
It's only better
with beer and wine.)

I hate Hanukkah and Kwanza,
and I hate Ramadan.
I hate the Winter Solstice;
I'll be glad when it's gone.

But I really hate Christmas,
in case you can't tell.
And year round Christmas,
would be year round hell.

(With my deepest apologies to John Lennon.)

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Just Because It's Tuesday

No country has existed forever, nor will it. People are what transend countries. Therefore, trust not in the country, foight not for the country, live not for the country, but do all of those things for the people. All people, everywhere.

The acquistion of superfluous goods (shopping) as a hobby should be a major indicator that our priorities are all screwed up. Competitive eating should be another.

Monday, December 04, 2006

And Yet More Bits and Pieces

Why aren't there green mammals? Wouldn't that be perfect for hiding in the grass? I mean, a black cat is perfectly useless in the snow, just as a white cat is perfectly useless in the grass. Now green, on the other hand, would be perfect. There are green fish. There are green snakes and lizards and frogs and stuff. There are green birds. There's green everything except mammals. I think I'll dye my cat green.

OK. So here's a really bad idea. (Probably even worse than dying my cat green) I like to identify bad ideas before they actually happen, so if someone suggests them, then I already know it's a bad idea. Ready? Porn on Ice. The Sexcapades, if you will. Just a really bad idea for all sorts of reasons.

Something that just doesn't sound right: The Peoples' Republic of Canada.

And here's one. The other day when Bush was in Indonesia, this medicine man guy put a curse on him. I'm not making this up. He stood along side the road that Bush was going down and did whatever these guys do to put the curse on him. I know it involved the blood from a snake and two other animals I could look up if I really were that motivated, but I'm not. So... What was the curse? That Bush would feel uneasy and be slightly nausiated. Only slightly. Hell, that sounds like me on every vacation I've ever taken. Comon. What kind of curse is that? Even if it comes true, how is this guy ever going to take credit for it? I'm thinking of a real curse, like having Bush's toes grow together. Now that's the kind of curse a guy could be proud of.

And finally: The biggest mistake God made was thinking it was all so obvious that he wouldn't need to give us a book.


I'm certain my neighbor believes I've broken the truce. That would be the one where I agree not to have 70 people on my back patio at 10:30 and he agrees that his leaf blower he revs up at 8:00 a.m. every Saturday morning really wouldn't fit up his ass, and besides, I'm nonviolent, damnit, but while we're at it, shutup your godamned dog. There were a few finer points, mostly hashed over by our wives which I'm sure pissed him off even more because, side by side, there's no denying that my wife is better looking. Much. And she's got 10 years on his wife. If not in age, definitely experience. So there! But he's too dumb to realize that it wasn't us. It was the neighbors, moron! So he's retaliating -- as I write -- with his dog. Doesn't the dumbass know you can't retaliate unless you've been hit first? So this becomes a pre-emptive strike. And I'll be damned if I'm going to sit here and take an unprovoked pre-emptive strike on something I didn't do. Never mind that it doesn't make sense! Now were's my damned stereo speaker wires?